


How much further must I travel, before you walk with me?

by Bill_Longbow



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Amputation, Brother-Sister Relationships, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Depression, Dissociation, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Horrors of War, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Needles, Nightmares, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Soul Bond, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Suicidal Thoughts, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 11:49:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29807976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bill_Longbow/pseuds/Bill_Longbow
Summary: In a universe where you can make contact with your soulmate by drawing onto your skin, Bucky's soulmate immediately stands out. It doesn't bother Bucky too much his soulmate puts them in places where only they can see, the drawings are for him, and that's enough. They are so much more complicated, more detailed, more beautiful than the ones others get, after all.One day the marks on his skin are not drawings, and they mark a pivotal change in their relationship. A change that ends with Bucky being disillusioned and enlisting. The loss of his arm overseas is just a step above the rock bottom they must reach before it gets better.This is a story about two soulmates, lost and broken. But aren't broken things more beautiful for the cracks?
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark, Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Riley/Sam Wilson
Comments: 27
Kudos: 58
Collections: WI Reverse Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sagana_Rojana_Olt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sagana_Rojana_Olt/gifts).
  * Inspired by [How much further must I travel art](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/771537) by Sagana. 



> Oh boy. So. I wasn't supposed to be participating in this bang (sorry people waiting for Tsums, Warlords, and armour porn!), but then I saw Sagana's amazing art and signed up. Little did I know this would become my longest fic to date, or my most heavy on the hurt hurt/comfort one. I really wanted to write a soulmate fic where meeting your soulmate isn't automatically the happily ever after and the answer to all of your problems.
> 
>  **Please mind the tags everyone!**
> 
> This is a trigger heavy fic. I'll give a summary of the biggest triggers in each chapter's end notes. There is light at the end of the tunnel though! You just have to look at Sagana's art to know everything will be alright. Eventually xD
> 
> A massive big thank to my cheering and beta crew:  
> [Sagana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sagana_Rojana_Olt/), for being the evilest but somehow also sweetest enabler out there. They are participating in this event a whopping 13 times, so go over and give her all the love! [Skye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skye_wyr/) is a cheerer and plothole mender extraordinaire, many of the scenes found their genesis in Skye's brain. And [Roe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseandthorns28/) made sure the fic is legible English, and not the Dutch-English gibberish my brain sometimes comes up with.
> 
> The title was taken from the song Walk with me by Nanchang Nancy/Swedish house mafia.
> 
> The mechanics for the universe need some explanation. They have given me a headache with how to make them at least somewhat plausible, but I'm afraid there's still some handwavy stuff.  
> In this universe you can communicate with your soulmate by drawing onto your skin. Only drawings you made yourself are transferred to your mate, just like only deliberate markings do. To avoid people (read my characters) from writing where they live and meet like that, only drawings and symbols are transferred. Anything that counts as a language doesn't transfer to your soulmate. So no letters or numbers, but also no Morse, no music notes, etc. Things that found me awake in the middle of the night were: what about make up? Or stick figures in the shape of letters? Is a flag enough of a symbol to count as a language? Hence the handwavy-ness, to preserve some of my rest xD
> 
> I tried to treat all the issues I write about with the utmost respect, but sometimes Bucky's POV might make an unreliable narrator. I'm kinda proud of how the fic turned out. Please let me know what you think in the comments!
> 
> The fic is finished and will post once a week on Saturday.

_Kintsugi_

_the art of being broken_

The first souldrawing appeared on Bucky's left arm when he was four. He can vaguely remember it, but he knows the stories by heart. A perfect cube in purple marker on the inside of his left arm.

His mom had cried happy tears, his dad had fired off some fireworks to celebrate. Sure, it was a little weird. Most first souldrawings were scribbles. Wobbly lines and wonky, barely recognizable figures. The cube had appeared with sure lines, until it had disappeared just as suddenly as it had come -- before Bucky's parents thought to take a picture of it. It had started a whirl of speculation on who Bucky's soulmate could be. The most popular idea was that it was an heir to some famous and/or rich folks. It wasn't unknown for the elite to "help" a small kid with their first souldrawing. It didn't change anything about who their soulmate was, but it was some kind of status thing.

The Barnes family had a lot of things,mainly noise and clutter -- four kids, three cats, and two dogs saw to that -- but no status. So Bucky had scribbled his merry way all over his body with the various pens, crayons, and markers that could be found around the house. He had tried his best to copy the cube after it disappeared, but when nothing followed it he grew bored and gotten back to scribbling whatever he felt like.

It was another year before a new souldrawing appeared. Bucky had grown more than a little jealous of the drawings of others. His sister Becca regularly was sent drawings of cars and monsters, Steve never went without a heart shape somewhere on his arm. Even Bucky's two baby twin sisters, who were still too small and pudgy to even hold a crayon, already were adorned with adorable toddler art.

Bucky's second drawing was even more complicated than the first. An intricate design of lines between squares and rectangles that barely fit onto his thigh. He had run downstairs to show his parents, but his excitement had died when his mom had held her hand in front of her mouth in shock. He wasn't quite sure what was wrong, but his mom looked at him with sad eyes from that moment. His family got quiet about Bucky's soulmate. No more speculation, no more jokes. Sometimes he caught the grown ups watching him, talking in hushed voices. It sucked, but like every five year old he had pebbles to collect and pigtails to pull, plus keeping the drawings to himself also gave them an extra special air.

After the second drawing, more and more appeared. Never on his arms, always on his thighs or stomach. He wondered if his soulmate's mom looked at them with sad eyes as well, and wished he could ask, but couldn't think of a way to. It didn't matter. He liked drawing on his stomach instead of his arm like everybody else, liked the extra special secret conversations. It was like they were their own club of spies. Maybe his soulmate was a spy, who knew? Bucky sent him a magnifying glass and a gun -- two things he thought were quintessentially spy-like -- and got a robot back. 

He wished so much he could just ask for a name, a location; or be an artist like Steve. Steve had drawn the skyline of New York as seen from the top of their building, so their soulmate knew where he was hanging out, and had gotten the Union Jack in return. Those two would find each other when they were big enough, no doubt about that. Bucky wasn't so sure. He had tried the flag and the skyline -- even he couldn't mess up the iconic look of the Empire State Building -- but had gotten only silence in return. It didn't matter. The drawings his soulmate sent him never failed to make him smile. There were robots and flying cars shooting lasers, or a giant squid on top of a building eating birthday cake. 

He loved the drawings, and he was sure he would love his soulmate too.

~~~

When Bucky was seven the drawings stopped being colourful and happy, and changed into sparse black lines. Something that looked like a window looking onto empty space was edged onto Bucky's right thigh. It was obvious his soulmate was in distress, and Bucky tried to cheer them up by drawing a sun and a tree with flowers in the sad, black rectangle, and a big red dragon for good measure.

  
  


He startled when his art was crossed out with angry black lines, and he spent an hour scrubbing his thigh until only the black remained on skin scraped red.

It was weeks before Bucky dared to make another drawing. A simple black stick figure waving. He put it on his stomach again, well away from the place where the window had been. He kept watching as he waited, but nothing appeared and daily life drew his attention again. It wasn't until after a few days, when the lines had almost faded that a second figure appeared next to his. Bucky could almost cry in relief. The second figure looked like it was holding hands with his, and Bucky knew he hadn't screwed up.

From then on he kept to drawing with a blue pencil. He didn't want to risk running his soulmate off again, and he kept his drawings simple. A scene from his favourite comic, a fantasy car, a ten legged spider. His soulmate still gifted Bucky geometric patterns, but he also started to answer Bucky's scribbles. A bird to eat the spider, a flying man to chase the car. Bucky loved it. It was like they were creating a comic together, and he hated how they had to wait for the old drawings to fade before they could make new ones again.

~~~ 

"For what value of the constant K does the quadratic equation X squared plus two X equals minus two K have two distinct real solutions?"

"What?" Steve looks up at Bucky with a frown. There's a smudge of ink on his left cheek, and Bucky wonders if his soulmate now has a matching smudge way over in Britain, or if it doesn't count as a souldrawing.

"For what value of the constant K does the quadratic equation X squared plus two X equals minus two K have two distinct real solutions?" Bucky repeats. "Is there any grown up who actually uses this shit in daily life?" They're fifteen, this is the absolute last thing he wants to spend his time with. 

Steve shakes his head with a sigh and stretches his arms high above his head with a yawn. The light catches a drawing Bucky hasn't seen yet, bright red against the pale skin of Steve's inner wrist.

"They sent you a new one?" Bucky nods, and raises his eyebrows when Steve blushes and quickly pulls down the sleeve of his shirt over the drawing.

"Yeah, last night. Just a doodle," Steve lies very unconvincingly, but Bucky lets him off the hook. The drawings are considered very personal and it's bad form to pry.

"Did you get anything?" Steve asks, leaning forward to see. Steve's the only person Bucky shares the drawings with, and he's always as intrigued by the sketches and complicated patterns as Bucky is.

Bucky pushes up his sleeve to show something that resembles line art of a seashell. His soulmate has used different coloured markers in an ever more intricate manner, and it's the most gorgeous piece Bucky has ever gotten by far. He's sad that the days are getting colder and he has to cover it up with sleeves, because ever since the summer holiday ended his soulmate sends him ever more beautiful drawings, and not just on his stomach and legs anymore.

"Geez, Buck," Steve says reverently, involuntarily reaching out a finger to trace the lines. "Your soulmate sure is something else..."

"Don't know how to answer something like this," Bucky sighs, wrapping a protective hand over the souldrawing.

"Did you take a picture yet?" Steve sits back on the bed again, unconsciously rubbing the spot of his newest drawing.

"Not yet, I couldn't get a good angle?" Bucky unlocks the drawer of the desk he shares with Becca and fishes his Fling from it, throwing it at Steve who catches it easily. Bucky can't wait to get this film developed, though he cries at the thought of having to buy a new one. When Steve has taken the picture they settle back in for their homework.

~~~

Two days before Christmas the schematics that adorn Bucky's left arm from his hand almost all the way to his shoulder suddenly disappear. His soulmate must've erased them, but Bucky can't understand why. Ever since the sea shell at the beginning of September his body has never been without some kind of drawing, usually geometric designs or schematics. He feels naked without them. Without thinking too much of it, he draws Ronald McDonald. Becca landed him a job cleaning at the nearest drive by, to tide him over the Christmas holidays and earn an extra little pocket cash. He kinda likes it, despite the smell, and will probably stay on for the weekends.

He doesn't get a response right away, but that's okay. He usually wakes up with new drawings and suspects his soulmate has turned nocturnal. With a spring in his step he enters the backdoor of his workplace.

Nothing comes.

Nothing over the holidays, nothing in response to his Christmas tree. Bucky's body stays pale and unadorned.

Until he sits down to draw fireworks to wish his soulmate a happy new year and he sees it happening. A very thin red line, from about halfway his left lower arm to his wrist. He waits for the rest of the drawing, but nothing happens, and he doesn't know what to make of it. The line turns a darker red the next day, smudged. A feeling of trepidation settles in the pit of Bucky's stomach, and for the first time he doesn't show it to Steve. After about a week into the new year the red is gone, leaving a silver line in its wake.

The normal drawings start again, and Bucky feels relieved. He had sent a snowman, and in answer his soulmate adds a background and tiny, intricate snowflakes. Bucky's stomach does an odd swooping thing as he admires the details. It's the same kind of feeling he sometimes gets when he watches the linebackers train, and he has to turn away and focus on something else to make his blush disappear. He knows it's naive, but he can only imagine his soulmate would send him beauty like this because they loved him. He doesn't care if his soulmate is ten or twenty or thirty years older than him. Someone who puts this much effort in their drawings must be worth knowing.

~~~

"Hey dork, if you tell mom and dad I'll kill you. No, I'll shave your head in your sleep!"

Becks is in no position to make any threats, with one leg out of the window, one still in. Bucky has all the power here and she knows it.

"That's not how you bargain, Becky," Bucky says as he leans back against the door. He might enjoy this, but he's not gonna let his sister get caught as she sneaks out to see her soulmate.

"How about you lend me your Gameboy for one week and we call it even?"

Becca glares at him, but the fact she doesn't even react to the nickname she hates is a testament to her desperation.

"Three days."

"Six."

"Four."

"Five, final offer." Bucky examines his nails in an air of extreme boredom, and Becca huffs angrily.

"Fine. Five, but I can take a look in your Souldrawing album."

Bucky looks up in surprise. He had gotten so used to his drawings being sort of ignored that the question startles him.

"It ain't fair they don't show an interest," Becca shrugs, same air of indifference, but Bucky could go over to kiss his sister. He would never of course.

"Deal."

~~

Becca’s whispered “I think your soulmate is a genius…” does a lot to soothe the silence of before.

  
  


~~~

  
  


The days get longer and New York is gripped by a sweltering heatwave. Everyone is huffing and complaining, especially Stevie since he can’t properly breathe and he burns like a lobster.

Despite having to accompany his best friend indoors, despite melting in classes and his head working in slow motion, Bucky is _thriving._ His right arm, torso and both legs are covered in colourful drawings. As far as Bucky can tell they’re sketches of machinery he can only guess the purpose of, and complicated schematics. Finally he’s able to show them off to everyone, no longer hidden. Waking up is a feast, wondering what kind of marvel his soulmate left him this time. The ooh’s and aah’s at school when someone spots the new drawing are very gratifying as well, and for the first time Bucky feels like he isn’t an outlier.

There’s no way he can compete with his soulmate’s art, so Bucky improvises and makes art as simple as possible: stick figures. He makes them dance across his body, lets them do handstands on what appears to be a wheel or rotor of some kind. Between two pieces of machinery he strings a wire on which a stick figure balances on a unicycle.

Two days before the summer holidays are about to start the air is so humid and warm you can just about cut it with a butter knife. Steve is lying behind Bucky on the couch, two fans on his face and his inhaler within reach. He’s watching a Star Trek rerun but Bucky can’t care less. He’s looking at the last empty patch of skin on his stomach, right next to his hip bone. He wants to put something special there, something to prove to his soulmate he’s as serious about this whole business as they seem to be. You don’t use your whole body as a canvas when you’re not interested in your soulmate’s opinion.

Again, he wishes he could draw like Stevie can. But he knows he wouldn’t want to trade with his sucky bad health, so another stick figure it has to be.

With his heart beating against his ribs, Bucky carefully draws two stick figures holding hands, sitting together at sunset. To him it’s a blatantly romantic drawing, and he hopes his soulmate will recognize it as such. It’s silly and childish to be so worked up about it, and with a huff he puts the cap back on the marker and pulls his boxers a little higher so they partly cover the drawing.

“Think they’ll ever invent a walking fridge?” Steve asks when Bucky sits back to lean against the couch, legs outstretched on the floor before him.

“Maybe in twenty years we can beam stuff to each other,” he muses as on screen Data makes attempts at humor.

“Like little pocket beam-things?” Steve sits up a little, always happy to geek out with Bucky over science.

“Wouldn’t that be amazing though?” Bucky pushes Steve’s legs to the side and leans his head back on the couch. There’s not a cell in his body motivated to get up and get their drinks.

“Yeah, or embarrassing,” Steve chuckles. “Imagine your ma beaming you like, healthy stuff for lunch.”

“My mom would totally do that. Probably add a note saying I shouldn’t forget to pick up her hemorrhoid cream or something.”

Steve’s answering laughter sets Bucky off as well, as he imagines the look on his own face at finding such a message.

“Buck, look!” Steve suddenly sits up straight and points at the part of his earlier drawing that sticks out from his boxers. Bucky’s soulmate is coloring it in, giving the sunset the most beautiful shades of reds, oranges, and blues.

Bucky pulls down the fabric of his boxers far enough to see the rest of the drawing, revealing his soulmate has given the stick figures a blanket to sit on, and a bottle of wine in a cooler.

“Maybe they are open to meeting you now?” Steve asks hesitantly, looking up to meet Bucky’s eye.

Bucky nods silently. He doesn’t want to get his hopes up, but this does seem like a good start. There’s no space left now to draw his version of New York again, but he will once one of the earlier drawings has faded. Maybe they live really close to each other, like Becks and her soulmate.

Feeling happy and excited, Bucky stands to finally grab them their drinks.

  
  


~~~

  
  


A week later Bucky sends the Empire state building again and, because he has been practicing, Brooklyn Bridge.

His skin stays silent.

  
  


~~~

  
  


Two weeks after the start of the summer holidays Bucky’s skin is as bare as it used to be. His soulmate doesn’t answer to any of Bucky’s drawings, and doesn’t start any of their own.

This should’ve been the best time of the year. Going to the local swimming pool by day to goof around and gorge on ice cream, work at the drive through at night and flirt with the clients. Everyone around him is having fun, but Bucky’s stomach is continually churning and his throat feels too tight. Did he read things wrong? Did he push too far? Is his soulmate disgusted by his clinginess? Or did something horrible happen to his soulmate? Are they lying in a coma somewhere, unable to respond?

The worst thing is that Bucky doesn’t know what he prefers – a grievously injured soulmate or one who’s healthy but has turned their back on Bucky – and he feels horrible for even thinking this.

~~~

Three circles, about half an inch in diameter have appeared on the soft skin of his groin during the night. They're an angry red, and unlike anything his soulmate has ever sent before. 

Feeling hopeful it's a conversation starter, Bucky grabs his marker and changes them into balloons, a little stick figure holding onto the three lines. 

He knows his soulmate is probably asleep and won't answer until late afternoon. 

Nothing happens during the day, but he wakes up to a bright red slash through the strings. 

He puts his marker away. 

~~~

More of these markings appear over the course of the summer. Scratches low on his stomach. Strange red dots on the inside of his bicep. 

The markings don't fade in a few days like the other drawings. They turn darker first, before suddenly disappearing one or two weeks later, leaving a silver or white aftershadow in their wake. 

His mind is doing an odd sort of denial on what these are, what they _mean,_ because he can't fit the idea that he poked fun of it with his balloon drawing without doubling over with nausea. 

It helps that they are hidden, that no one has to know. 

Until one day Becca walks into his room when he's dressing for work and she screams. 

Bucky startles bad enough to almost fall over backwards, tangled with his arms in his shirt. He emerges angry when he pulls his head through, ready to scold his sister for walking into the sacredness of his room unannounced, but Becca barrels right into him. 

"Bucky what the hell! Why didn't you tell us you were hurt?" She pushes his arm up and out of the way to look at where four long scratches appeared on his ribs overnight. 

Bucky pushes her away, but judging by her face that morphs from shock to horror to sadness she saw enough. Bucky hurriedly pulls his shirt down and crosses his arms over his chest protectively.

“Bucky…” Becca starts, but the twins are coming down the hall, and she hurries back to close the door of Bucky’s room. 

“It ain’t that bad,” Bucky lies, feeling horrible as soon as he says it. It's worse than just plain _bad_. His soulmate is obviously deliberately hurting himself, and there's nothing Bucky can do. 

Becca sits down on Bucky’s bed and pats the space next to her. Bucky doesn’t want to do this. Talking about it makes it more real, makes that he can't pretend anymore it's not happening, but on the other hand it's such a humongous relief to finally share this horrible knowledge. He falls onto the bed next to her and hunches in on himself. 

"What are you gonna do?" Becca asks, voice unusually gentle. 

Bucky huffs something that should resemble a laugh. "Do? There's nothing I can do. I don't know where they live or what's going on. Why would anyone hurt themselves like this?"

Becca doesn't answer, but she puts her arm around his shoulders, and Bucky leans against her slightly, biting his lower lip to keep himself from crying. 

What the hell is going on in his soulmate's life that hurting themself seems like their best option? And what does it say about _him_ that he's tied to someone as troubled as that?

"Maybe it's their way of asking for help?"

Bucky nods. He had thought of that, but after the balloons he's too scared to send anything back. What if he drives them to do something worse?

"I don't know what to do…" He traces figures on the bedcover with his finger. Does his soulmate have a sister? A friend? Someone they can share their pain with?

"They must be lonely," Becca reads his thoughts, and Bucky leans a little more against her. They have to be, and suddenly he realizes the question he has to ask himself is this: 

What does it say about him that he lets his soulmate suffer by himself?

"Thanks, Becky."

"You're welcome, dork."

~~~

He spends one afternoon in the library researching self harm. He needs to stop halfway -- leaving the books on the table -- to puke his guts out in the library toilet after being confronted with full coloured pictures. 

_Depression, anxiety, abuse. Borderline disorder, anorexia, psychosis, dissociation._

Bucky tries to read up on all these different reasons why someone would start to hurt themselves as well, but it's too much. One thing is clear to him, his soulmate needs help. 

~~~

A bandaid.

When his soulmate scratched themselves in their groin -- four ugly, rugged lines -- Bucky draws a bandaid over them. He even bought a new package of coloured felt tips, to make it look as real as possible, and he completely hides the marks under the brown. 

It’s not until both the ink and the scratches have faded that a new mark appears, and Bucky counts it as a win.

~~~

Two cuts on the inside of his palm get a bandaid as well. He borrows Becca’s lipstick to give a kiss to something he sincerely hopes isn’t a burn mark. Next to new scratches he draws two stick figures hugging.

He doesn’t know what his soulmate thinks of these, but the harm seems to have lessened since he started, and Bucky is cautiously hopeful.

And then a few weeks after the new school year has started the scribbles start back up. Soon Bucky’s body is filled with the most fantastic artwork again, but it’s not the same. Underneath the schematics, silver lines and dots hide, keeping Bucky on high alert at all times. He prays his soulmate found the help that they needed, prays that they are piecing themselves back together and don’t need to harm themselves anymore.

~~~

A year passes. Two. 

Steve finds out about the harm marks, because of course he does, and he briefly tries to convince Bucky to show his parents. 

_"Why would you keep this from them?"_

_"They already freaked out when I got a fucking geometric pattern, Steve. What the hell do you think will happen when they find out about this?"_

It’s a horrible conversation, and Bucky is relieved when Steve drops it. Even if he does it with a jutted out chin, in typical Steve fashion.

Whenever a harm mark appears Bucky tries to make it better, more bearable for his soulmate. He tries to get to know them better, figuring you feel less lonely when someone knows your likes and dislikes. He draws simple choices and tells his soulmate his preference. Red or blue. Cats or dogs. Hot dog or pizza. Or both, as it turns out in this case. Baseball or football. Sun or moon.

He keeps on photographing the prettiest art, and adds copies of his soulmate’s old drawings to his repertoire of answers to the harm marks. 

After painstakingly copying that gorgeous seashell line art his soulmate sends him back the two hugging stick figures, making Bucky feel warm and proud.

There always has been a pattern in the drawings his soulmate sent. Only on the most private of body parts during the Christmas and summer breaks, and all over Bucky’s body in between. The harm marks follow the same pattern: during the breaks they happen much more often, and Bucky starts to dread the holidays because of it.

_Abuse._

Bucky wishes so badly he could go and swoop in to fly his soulmate away from that awful place his soulmate is forced to stay, during what are the best times of the year for the rest of the world. His brain keeps coming up with scenarios of what kind of abuse his soulmate is facing, and from each holiday Bucky emerges gaunt and with huge bags under his eyes due to lack of sleep. It's only when the harm marks get less and the other drawings start to fill his entire body again that Bucky gets to sleep. 

~~~

On graduation day Bucky sends his soulmate the Empire State building again. If there’s anyone he’d like to celebrate with, it's them, and if they're the same age as Bucky, like Becca and her soulmate are, _this_ is the time for his soulmate to escape. 

His skin has stayed unmarred of cuts and burns for almost three months now, and Bucky is determined to not let them suffer through another summer. 

He’s so preoccupied with the ceremony and the subsequent parties that he doesn’t have time to check his body for an answer. Not until he crashes on his bed, secretly very tipsy due to the bottle of whiskey someone had spiked the bowl with. 

He undresses with sloppy movements, ripping off his clothes without any finesse, until he freezes. In the middle of his stomach, next to the image he sent is a new drawing. Bucky fumbles with his nightlight to turn it on so he can see better, but as soon as he does he wishes he hadn’t bothered.

Instead of an answer, his soulmate has drawn a figure, lying in a puddle of something. Bottle in one hand and tongue lolling out of his mouth. Instead of eyes the figure has two crosses, and the figure’s free hand is raised and appears to give Bucky the finger.

It’s like he’s been kicked in the sternum. After all that him and his soulmate have been through…

Tears well up, and he angrily wipes them away. He doesn’t want to be childish. He's grown up now, and _they_ don’t _deserve_ his tears. 

He takes the cleaning alcohol he keeps on hand to fix a mistake in his drawings, and roughly scrubs his chest clean, erasing the Empire State building and the invitation that came with it. 

Naive. Ignorant. Stupid. Why the hell would his soulmate suddenly want to see him, after all his time? 

He really doesn't understand why they don't. They're _soulmates,_ destined to be together; two halves of the same person, and all that crap. Hasn't he done his best? Didn't he give enough comfort? Clearly he's not good enough, and he doesn't believe he ever will be. 

The next day he enlists.

~~~

A trap. 

He knows it's a trap as soon as he steps into the house. You don't survive two active tours and get recommended for sniper training by being unobservant. He knows it's a trap but he also knows the hostiles don't have any qualms about using women and children as a human shield, and Bucky just can’t stand by and watch it happen. So he walks into the house to pull out the woman and her babe, and he consciously puts his rifle away so he can carry her to safety.

They almost make it back to the entrance before all hell breaks loose. Automatic guns rip through the plaster walls like wet tissues. The dust makes it impossible to see where's what and who's who, screams and the rattling of the guns only adding to the confusion. 

He stumbles when he's hit in the thigh, but it's just a graze and manages to keep hold of the woman and stay upright. Relief floods him when one of his squad mates emerges and he can hand the woman and her babe over to her. 

Ominous creaking is all the warning Bucky gets before the ceiling comes down on him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings in this chapter are:
> 
> Self harm. Bucky's soulmate hurts himself and Bucky tries to guess how (while not wanting to know)  
> Implied abuse. Bucky looks up reasons for self harm.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See endnotes for the trigger warnings in this chapter, which are numerous and hefty. Here is the rock bottom mentioned in the summary. But! The healing starts in this chapter too.

Hours -- _days?_ \-- of agony and fear. He's trapped under the rubble, and when he tries to get free he passes out from the pain. He’s stuck. His arm is stuck, and the pain isn’t the worst part. The worst part is that he can’t feel his arm past the pain, and fear of losing his limb wars with fear of being caught by the militia men he can hear roaming outside the wreckage. 

With nothing to do but wait, his mind wanders to his soulmate, as it’s wont to do in the silent hours during patrols or in the long dark hours after lockdown. He likes to pretend it’s getting hard to distinguish their scars from each other, but he knows his body looks different from theirs. The splattering of white on his right hip and side from grenade shards aren’t mirrored on his soulmate, nor is the ugly white cut on his shoulder from when a woman attacked him in the marketplace. 

He must’ve passed out again, because all of a sudden the air is rendered by shouting and the sound of helicopters very close by. 

_Please be our guys please be our guys please please please_

Gunfire erupts around him and there’s nothing he can do. He’s completely helpless, at the mercy of whoever finds him here. The fear makes it hard to think, hard to breathe, he's never been this scared in his life. It drowns out all logic thought until there's nothing left but _no no no no no..._

American voices coming closer cut through.

Bucky almost cries in relief, and he finally dares to yell, though only a dry croak comes out, and he coughs violently before trying again. 

"Here, I'm here!"

“Here’s another!” An unfamiliar voice calls out very close to him, and Bucky sends a thank you to a God he stopped believing in long ago.

A flashlight suddenly shines in Bucky’s eyes and he blinks furiously after lying in the twilight for so long. 

"You Howlies are a tough bunch. Can you move, soldier?" Despite the pain and worry Bucky huffs a laugh. 

"Can't, my arm is trapped. The others?"

"Everyone survived as far as we can tell, which is a damn miracle if you ask me." The soldier inspects the hollow Bucky’s trapped in with his flashlight, and disappears from view to confer with someone else. It’s hard, but Bucky tries to wait patiently for them to move whatever’s trapping him, even if it seems like ages before the soldier is back. As he waits the entire structure above Bucky seems to shake and he cringes in fear, but it's only plaster that rains down on him. 

It’s not the soldier who found him that peeks in next, but a new man, looking at him somberly. “I’m Staff Sergeant Davis, medic. What’s your name?” 

“Sergeant James Barnes, sir."

Davis looks away as someone says something out of Bucky’s earshot, and he nods.

“We don't got much time, Barnes. We tried to move some of the debris, but it seems the wall you're trapped under is holding up the rest of the structure…"

Bucky blinks at the man, as his brain refuses to connect the dots. 

"I'm sorry, son. I wish I could do it for you, but there's no time to create a hole for me to crawl in with you."

"I don't…" Bucky says feebly, willing the medic to change his mind and lift the building off him. 

"Militia are inbound. Eta T minus twenty. We need to get out and we need to get out now." 

Bucky doesn't know how the man can sound so calm as he hands Bucky a syringe through the narrow gap next to Bucky's legs where just his arm fits through. Bucky has to reach to be able to take it. It tugs at his arm and he groans loudly in pain. 

"Stick the needle in the muscle just above your elbow. Can you reach?" Davis shines his flashlight where Bucky's arm disappears under the concrete. 

It's a wonder Bucky manages to push the needle in with the way his hand is shaking so badly. He's in this weird half state where he knows what's going to happen, but his mind at the same time flat out refuses it’s happening. It stays like that as he takes the belt and makes a tourniquet. And gets even worse when he's handed a scalpel and Davis talks him through the procedure. _Just like Sunday roast,_ he thinks hysterically, and weirdly that thought helps to get the job done. 

He doesn't even really, fully realize what's happened when he wiggles and shuffles from his confines with help from Davis and the other soldier. It's only when he can sit up straight and he catches sight of the heavily bleeding wound that it sinks in. He promptly passes out. 

  
  


~~~

Everyone’s there when he returns. He didn’t let anyone know just when he was due back -- in unmarked military aircraft, to a small military airstrip. He didn’t think he could handle seeing anyone he knew, letting _them_ see _him._ The new him. When Becca pulls him close in a careful hug he feels like throwing up. 

Everyone’s there. His mom and dad, the twins, Becca, her soulmate Eddy and their beautiful baby boy. Steve. It doesn’t take a genius to realize the knockout dead gorgeous woman at Steve’s side is his soulmate. Steve told him in his letters how he had been bold and bought a ticket to meet Peggy at Cambridge, but even Steve’s lyrical descriptions don’t do justice to her beauty and charm. 

Bucky thinks he manages to smile and be polite. He tries to, at least. But the group is too big, too loud. They remind him too much of the families he didn't manage to carry out in time. It’s too exposed, and the noises of the airplane engines and other vehicles grate on his nerves. 

Everyone’s there, and they’re happy to see him and want to throw him a welcome home party. A party. They want to pretend nothing’s wrong, that nothing’s _missing_. But Bucky sees the way their eyes stray to where his shirt is pinned up. Every time someone looks at the stump it’s almost as if it itches, but not even crossing his other arm protectively over it makes the sensation go away. 

There’s nowhere for him to go. He never built a life -- no soulmate to make a home with for him -- and there’s nothing for him to do but go home with them, back to his parents’ place. At the mere thought of his mom hovering, his dad making awkward jokes, his sisters butting in, he seizes and feels like he’s suffocating. 

Of all people it’s Peggy Carter who recognizes he’s on the verge of a panic attack, and she deftly steers him away from their group to a quiet spot. She makes him count backwards from a hundred in jumps of seven until his breathing is back under control and he doesn’t feel like he wants to claw off his skin. 

"Too much?" Peggy asks gently, and Bucky nods without raising his head. He can't stand the looks of pity she and Steve no doubt sport. 

There's some silent communication going on over his head and he hates it. Hates how he can't just stand up straight and say what's what, but his heart is still racing from before and he fears that if he looks up now and sees the crowd he sets off again. 

"Buck, do you… you can come home with us?" Steve says gently. Much too gentle. Steve doesn't do gentle. Steve's all fire and barely concealed energy, with a quick wit and quicker tongue. Bucky must look awful if it stirs Steve into gentle and soft. 

Bucky feels trapped, but between moving in with his parents, staying with Steve, or staying here he doesn't have much of a choice, does he?

"Okay," he says, more like whispers, but Steve hears him anyway and squeezes his shoulder. 

"I'll inform your parents," Peggy announces, and it's not before the clickclack of her heels is inaudible that Bucky dares to look up at Steve. 

"It'll be okay, Bucky," Steve swears, his brow furrowed in that honest expression Bucky used to both love and dread. Bucky almost believes him. 

~~~

It gets harder and harder to leave Steve's apartment. To leave his room. To leave his bed. He counts sleeping _in_ the bed a win. A pathetic and weak win, but it's better on his back than sleeping on the floor. (Never mind that the pain in his missing arm drowns out any muscle ache he might have.)

There's no time of day quiet enough to go outside. He can't take the pitying looks of passers by, can't deal with shopping one handed. He hates the park where the green feels too exposed and the trees can hide whoever. Hates the cheerfulness of people enjoying the spring sun. After the smell of berbere brings on a panic attack so severe Steve calls an ambulance, Bucky refuses to go out at all. 

He doesn't understand, but the longer he's back the worse the flashbacks and nightmares become. There are nights where he doesn't sleep one second, whimpering as quietly as he can for fear of being discovered by militia. Other nights he's balled up so tight in his sleep he wakes up to his joints aching bad enough to draw tears. 

Weak. He feels so weak. A burden. A parasite. He wants to act, wants to give something back to Steve and Peggy for their hospitality, but how can he when most days it feels like too big an effort to go to the toilet? 

In his darkest moments he thinks everyone would be better off if he just… didn't wake up one day. If he was any kind of man he would do it himself, but then the memory of cutting into the flesh of his arm resurfaces and he knows he couldn't do that again. Too cowardly for that. 

A small voice in the back of his head sometimes remembers it was the absence of cowardice that led him to where he is now, but that voice gets smaller and smaller as the days turn into weeks. 

His family visits him less and less. He makes the monumental effort of getting out of bed for them, but can barely stand to look them in the eye when they're there. They want him to be better, to be normal, and he wants that too. God, he wants that, but his skin crawls when they try to pretend nothing's the matter and he wants to run and hide when they don't. Letters of his teammates end up unopened on the bottom of his closet.

Everything and anything can set him off. A sound outside, a careless word, a flash of Peggy's blood red lipstick. Steve has taken to hiding all the metal knives and they only use orange plastic cutlery around Bucky anymore. 

It would be so much easier if he could just… not be there anymore. No bother. No burden. He knows this takes its toll on the others, most of all on Steve. He wishes so much he could just be himself again, but for all his wishes he doesn't know how and doesn't think he can. 

So he retreats. Into his room. Into his bed. Into his head. The only thing he comes out for is dinner, when he can make himself. And through all this his skin stays clear, unmarked, but for the scars his soulmate gave them both. Bucky could've returned that favour, but the cuts he made himself were removed by the field surgeon, and thus the scars on his stump are not his own. He couldn't even do that right. 

~~~

He cries when his mom sends his dad to deliver Bucky's favourite -- cheesy meatloaf -- and he can't get out of bed to receive it. 

He's such a fucking useless piece of shit.

~~~

"Buck?" Steve knocks at his door, but instead of retreating and waiting for Bucky to come to dinner like he usually does, he comes in. 

Bucky tries to lay as still as possible. Steve knows how little he sleeps and will let him lie if he thinks Bucky is napping. When Steve doesn't retreat he sits up though. His hair is long enough now to hide behind, and he watches warily as Steve takes his movement to step further into his room. 

"I've been doing some research," Steve says, halting next to the chair at the foot of Bucky's bed. It holds a mountain of dirty clothes and some bedsheets. (Bucky keeps telling himself he will wash them, but hasn't found the energy yet.)

"It's been four months since you came back," Steve states, and tries to look Bucky in the eye, but in the half light it's easier to avoid eye contact. (Things are easier with the blinds closed. If there's no passage of the sun there's no passage of time and he can pretend it's not been that long.)

Bucky doesn't know how to answer, doesn't know what Steve wants to hear, so he stays quiet. 

"It's obvious you aren't getting any better," Steve continues, used to Bucky's silence by now, "and I think you should get help."

Help. If only.

"I met someone who works with the VA. He says it's not uncommon what you're going through and gave me some things to read…" Steve puts some leaflets on the bed next to Bucky's feet. 

"Just… Read them, okay?"

Steve looks tired. Sad. Bucky did that. It's Bucky's fault that Steve's shoulders drag down, his usual spark a little dimmed. Still Steve fights and tries his best to pull Bucky through, by the skin of his teeth if need be. 

"Okay," Bucky answers with a slight nod. For Steve he will try. 

  
  


It takes him three days before he builds up the courage to read. He wants to sooner, but somehow he’s afraid of what he’ll find, afraid he’ll disappoint Steve again when he can’t manage what they advise.

_What is PTSD?_

_Effective treatments for PTSD_

_Depression_

_Veterans crisis line_

Bucky puts the last one, which resembles a business card, to the side. He’s not in crisis. At least, he doesn’t think he is. Crisis involves panic and turmoil, not lying in bed all day.

He picks up the first again. _What is PTSD?_ Bucky dreads to find out, but opens the leaflet anyway. 

_Common symptoms_

_Reliving the event: Memories of the trauma can come back at any time and can be triggered by reminders of what happened. You may have bad dreams, or feel like you are going through the trauma again_.

Strike one. Not a day goes by that he doesn’t wake up with the phantom taste of plaster on his tongue, that he doesn’t remember how little resistance the scalpel had, like pushing a knife through butter. But now that he’s back it’s not just that, but all kinds of memories that keep plaguing him, things that didn’t bother him all that much when he was still on active duty. Does that count? The leaflet doesn’t say.

_Avoiding situations that remind you of the event: You may try to avoid places, people or things that bring back memories of the event._

Strike two. But Bucky doesn’t just avoid those things, he avoids all the things. 

_Feeling keyed up. Negative changes in beliefs and feelings. Feeling shame, guilt, depression. Problems interacting with others._ Bucky can check each and every symptom in the leaflet, and he has to put it down for a moment to let it sink in. 

He’s not insane. 

Others experience things just like him, and apparently there are ways to treat it. _It_. Not him. With a trembling hand he picks up the next leaflet and reads it carefully. 

~~~

“You’ve reached the Veterans Crisis line, my name is Carol. Who am I speaking with?”

“James. Ma’am.”

“I’m glad you decided to call, James. Can I ask you where you are?”

“I’m… I’m in my room. In my bed. I… Most days I don’t know how to get out of bed…”

“You made a big step by picking up that phone, James. A big, big step…”

~~~

“Steve, that someone you met at the VA… You think I could meet them too?”

~~~

He can't. He can't. He's not strong enough. He doesn't know how all the other vets manage, but he can't go out. He can't. 

And here he was, a little proud he made it out of bed in the morning five days in a row. Showered even. 

Steve looks at him from the doorway with a mixture of hope and resignation, like he too can't believe Bucky is strong enough to do this. 

Shaking badly, Bucky sinks to the floor and hides his face against his knees. 

~~~

"This is Carol, leave a message after the beep."

"I tried to leave the house today, but I couldn't…"

~~~

Bucky is making lunch. It might look like a small thing, but after skipping the meal for almost half a year, it's huge. He thought up a routine, and he's sticking to it. 

A bowl of rice krispies is a better lunch than none. 

~~~

Rice krispies taste better with banana and milk. 

~~~

"Nice to finally meet you, James," Sam smiles, and Bucky doesn't know what it is about the man, but he instantly feels at ease. It's such a foreign sensation nowadays that it leaves him reeling and unable to grasp for words, but Sam takes it in stride. He doesn't comment on it, doesn't blink, and doesn't try to shake Bucky's hand. He just waits patiently for Bucky to retrieve his marbles and answer. 

"You too," he nods, relieved his voice doesn't break as it sometimes does. 

Sam smiles wider, and then continues to put his six pack of alcohol free beers on the kitchen counter. 

Steve stands beaming to the side, and despite himself Bucky huffs a laugh and punches Steve's upper arm. "Punk." 

~~~

"... I can't use butter anymore…"

"James. I really want to ask you to come in."

~~~

Babysteps. Don't think too big. Small victories are victories nonetheless. 

Peggy is coming home after visiting her parents, and Bucky wants to _do_ something. With his heart in his throat he opens the front door, walks down the stairs and onto the street. He has pulled his baseball cap low over his eyes so he doesn't have to look at anyone.

_I'm home, I'm safe. New York isn't Addis Ababa. I'm home. I'm safe. The war is far away._

With this mantra he manages to walk to the little cornershop down the block, buy a pound of ground chicken, and make it back without suffering through a panic attack. 

You can't call chicken patties and rice haute cuisine, but Bucky has never been this damn proud of a meal in his life. 

~~~

_Bucky is locked in place, his mouth wide open but no sound escaping. The entire building is coming down, and he knows his friends are still in there. Steve and Peggy, and that guy who always fetches the mail in his bathrobe. He can see them behind the windows as the whole thing comes crashing down in a cloud of dust and flying rocks._

_When he can finally move he runs towards them but it’s his soulmate trapped under the building. They don’t have a face or any discernible features, but he knows it’s them. They scream as he cuts off their arm with a huge machete._

He wakes up with his face wet with tears, his throat feeling hoarse. It was him who had been screaming.

~~~

"Buck, Sam's here!" Steve calls out from the living room. 

Bucky is just tying his hair with a nifty trick Pegs taught him. He swears, that woman is like a Swiss army knife. "Coming!"

It's the third time Sam joins them to watch the game on Sunday, and Bucky has been looking forward to it. It's an unusually warm September day, but still Sam chooses to come and see them instead of lying in the park like the rest of New York, and that makes Bucky feel… happy, there's no other word for it. 

He opens his door and walks past Steve's room to the living room. "Hey Sam, did ya--"

Sam's not alone. Bucky freezes in the doorway and stares.

"Hey Bucky, this is Riley, my soulmate." 

Bucky hears Sam from very away, unable to tear his eyes away from the man who's hugging Peggy. It's not so much that there's a total stranger in their house, a thing that would be enough to send Bucky back to his room, but the man, Riley, has a metal leg. Riley has lost a limb -- a bigger limb, his _entire_ _leg_ \-- and is standing here _in shorts_ like it's just another Sunday, and fuck, it shakes up Bucky's whole world view. 

Riley turns around to smile and wave at Bucky. "Nice to meet you, man."

"Hi," Bucky manages to croak, still in the doorway. 

Riley nods and turns to talk with Peggy, and that's that. Just like Sam he doesn't even look at Bucky's missing arm, or at his greasy hair, or at his scruffy beard. Not once during the game, nor during the meal that follows. None of them do. Sitting together on the couch, throwing profanities at the referee -- Peggy's are by far the best -- gives Bucky an odd sense of vertigo, like he stepped into someone else's life. 

Or maybe it's because Riley is so _normal_. Nothing hints at whatever trauma he went through. He's not skittish, not shy. He even jokes about using his leg as a bottle opener. Bucky can't help but watch the man, transfixed.

At some point Sam is away to use the toilet, and Steve and Peggy are making snacks -- read smooching -- in the kitchen, leaving Riley and Bucky alone. 

"Go ahead, you can ask," Riley says. It's not a taunt, not an accusation. Riley is one of the nicest guys Bucky has met. It's an _invitation_. Bucky can't though. Doesn't know how. 

"Fell from a plane," Riley says unperturbed and pats his metal thigh. "Was on a pararescue mission. Chute didn't open and my entire leg shattered on impact. I was lucky I fell just on this one though," he shrugs. 

Bucky blinks. He doesn't understand how Riley can be so casual about this, how he can even talk about it at all.

“Didn’t you… how did you…”

“Oh, it was hard at first. Didn’t sleep more than a few hours for months. Doc gave me sleep meds that only made things worse? I slept so deep I didn’t wake up from the nightmares.” Riley stops here, and takes a sip of his drink. “Sam put a stop to those, and helped me get proper therapy. It’s how he got in with the VA,” Riley chuckles.

Bucky is hanging onto Riley’s every word. Steve, Peggy and Sam, Becca, his parents, Carol, they all have said the same thing: it’s possible to heal, but Bucky never really believed them. But Riley, Riley _knows._ Pararescue… Those are some of the toughest sons of bitches out there. The things he must've seen...

“That easy?” 

“Look,” Riley shakes his head. “nothing’s easy about that. Don’t think it’ll ever be, if I’m completely honest. I still wake up in a panic some days, so does Sam. But it gets eas _ier._ ” 

Bucky steals a look to where Sam has joined Steve and Peggy in the kitchen and is telling them some kind of joke by the looks of it. He had never guessed Sam was anything but okay. Unconsciously he rubs the stump with his other hand. Guess you can never tell.

~~~

"I'm ready."

“I’ll pencil you in.”

~~~

Talk therapy is just as much fun as it sounds, but it's the best option between taking drugs and doing nothing. 

It could've been worse, but he trusts Carol. Then on his third visit she makes him relive the memory of cutting off his arm while doing some weird hypnosis jumbo. He's dizzy and at the point of throwing up halfway through, but then everything seems to go… quiet. Fuzzy at the edges. The memory is still horrible to look at, but it's not like he's suffocating anymore. 

That night he sleeps without a nightmare for the first time since coming back. Steve’s hug when he tells him feels like hope.

~~~

"It hurts, doesn't it?"

Bucky startles into straightening from where he's hunched protectively over the stump. He hadn't heard Riley come into the kitchen, too absorbed in breathing through the pain. "Always," he huffs. 

The phantom limb sensations are as elusive as the nightmares and intrusions. Days can go by when the ache is a constant buzz in the back of his mind -- awful, but somehow manageable in the greater scheme of things, and then there are these attacks like now, where his whole arm feels like it's on fire. Except there is no fucking arm and no amount of painkillers can make the hurt go away. 

"A buddy of mine had them, lost his arm just like you. Have you seen a doctor yet?"

Bucky shakes his head. He's had his fill of doctors, thank you very much. Carol doesn't count. 

"You might wanna try it. Buddy was sent to a physiotherapist who did this thing with mirrors? Don't know the ins and outs, but it helped them a lot. Might wanna give it a try." Riley pats Bucky's shoulder and moves to pull a drink from the fridge. 

~~~

Carol makes him go see a proper doctor, not a shrink like she is. Steve comes with, but still it's an even bigger hurdle to take than going in to see Carol was. With Carol he doesn't have to take off his shirt, she never tries to touch him. 

It's not only the stump, but Bucky's also afraid of what they'll say about the other scars, which in turn makes him feel disgusted with himself for being ashamed of them. 

It's a mess and results in his first panic attack in weeks, and Bucky almost flees home, but for Steve’s grounding touch on his shoulder. He wonders what it would be like to go through all of this with his soulmate near. Would he be as easy going as Riley? Is that Riley’s secret?

Ultimately, the doctor is as nice and professional as everyone he’s met at the VA. He does ask about the scars, but when Bucky tells them he doesn’t want to talk about them, he drops it immediately. He explains Bucky’s treatment options in easy to understand terms, and leaves the decision to Bucky, which boils down to meds or physiotherapy. It would be easier to pick the meds, so he doesn’t. It feels better to put in an effort, like he deserves his recovery better that way.

The therapy isn’t a wonder cure, but the burning attacks do come less often, until it’s sometimes weeks before one hits again. Bucky adds weight lifting and stretching to his morning routine, and with the return of his muscle mass he literally feels more solid, more himself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW:   
> Amputation, needles: Bucky has to cut off his own arm.  
> PTSD, depression, panic, dissociation, nightmares, suicidal thoughts: Back home Bucky retreats into his head, which isn't a nice place.   
> Horrors of war: Bucky has a nightmare about a mass grave.   
> Phantom pain.

**Author's Note:**

> Come join us on the 16+ [ Stuckony discord server ](https://discord.gg/jtXcc3n) for all things Tony, Bucky and Steve!


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